


she bleeds red

by celestial_txt



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Blood Drinking, Bondage, Corruption, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Murder Girlfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_txt/pseuds/celestial_txt
Summary: The witch of Doma is more than just a witch. The witch of Doma is something else, something vastly more horrifying, and you cannot wait in the dark anymore. You need to know. Even if it kills you.A slight AU wherein Yotsuyu is a vampire and the Warrior of Light falls hard and fast for her.
Relationships: Yotsuyu goe Brutus/Reader, Yotsuyu goe Brutus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	she bleeds red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyiceheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyiceheart/gifts).



> Alternatively: Five nights you come to Yotsuyu, and the one night she seeks you out.

The witch of Doma is more than just a witch. The witch of Doma is something else, something vastly more horrifying, and you cannot wait in the dark anymore. You need to _know_. Even if it kills you.

And a well-paid contract is a well-paid contract, even if it is a very strange one. _Bring the lace collar of Yotsuyu for payment_. No other stipulations or hooks, no demands on Yotsuyu’s life itself. Just the collar. You have turned the instructions over in your head, wondering, but you have your own curiosity to sate. Sometimes, a red-handed person such as yourself is lucky enough that the planets align just so. 

You scale the wall, fingers hooking between beams, pushing yourself upwards. Your goal is crystal clear in your mind, the daggers strapped to your waist. You know what you are going to do, what everyone else is too fearful to do. You know how to keep your head bowed when no one should be watching your movements, know how to distract from the smooth sweep of your hand as poison drips into a cup. Not that you ever preferred such tactics, much less now. You want to look your enemy in the eye. You want them to know you. Just as you desire to know them. 

The thing about The Scions is they’re so soft, so gentle, and they picked you up either not knowing who you are — or knowing and wanting to utilize you. With your sharpened teeth and black scleras, there are people who whisper a fearful prayer to Halone just seeing you. It does not bother you, never has. You have always preferred the shadows and the night, the eerie glow of a full moon more comforting to you than the harshness of daylight. You knew the comfort of shadows long before you knew the touch of the divine sun. 

You could fill books on the margins you know of society that they have barely walked. The things you can learn from the merest whisper, the softest turn of the hand. How thin the membrane that separates good from bad truly is. All it takes is one desire to go astray.

And now your desire to know has brought you here, to look Yotsuyu in the eyes and _know_.

You have counted windows, watched many late nights from a safe distance with the spyglass, shrouded in secrecy on a rooftop. You know the window that is hers, several stories up and on the corner, looking away from the city and out onto the sea. On clear nights, there is nothing but the moon and its rippling mirror image to be seen from there. 

The tell-tale trail of smoke coming out in the window above you is the beacon that has been calling to you for weeks. Yotsuyu has become an obsession. You have watched and waited, taking notes. A contract is a contract but this was never just about the payout, a damning truth that you cannot dodge away from. 

Yotsuyu has been a thorn in your mind for too long. She is terrible, horrid, and yet… 

You breathe in and quietly haul yourself up over the edge, every nerve in your body on fire. The witch of Doma is more than just a witch and you are here to find out the truth you have guessed at.

Yotsuyu sits alone at a low table covered with play cards, her black kimono pooling around her and pipe in hand. She is surprised at your intrusion, but only for the blink of an eye before the smug calm settles onto her features again. She exhales a thick cloud of smoke and you notice her hand resting on a pistol that was just a moment ago obscured by her sleeve.

“I am no fool. You are not the first to come in the night.” She curls her finger around the trigger. “I just never expected it to be _you_ , coming like this.”

Your reputation precedes you, as it does. Your face grows more recognizable by the day. Not that anyone knows you, for that matter. Just the thin, shuddering and mutable outline of you. 

Her finger loosens on the trigger, a mere second, but that is all you need. Your instincts kick in.

How you have trained for a moment like this, reflexes fast and precise as you reach for the daggers and cross the floor in three quick steps. She meets your every move, faster than you, dizzyingly fast, terrifyingly so.

This is not how it ever goes. Not how your assignments go. It is humiliating how fast she has you matched.

It is over before it even began, with the barrel of her gun digging in under your chin, tilting your face up. Her free hand has gripped one of your wrists, twisting it so fast that you drop the blade without even a scream before the pain registers. 

Still, you have one hand free. That is all you need. 

You push it up to her neck, slicing through the black lace collar protecting her throat, needing to know. 

There were stories you heard told on moonless nights growing up, of creatures with sharp fangs and a thirst for blood. A thirst for your blood. Your grandmother would tap her fingers against her neck as she told it, _you will see two precise marks here, never healing, never disappearing. The eternal mark of shame. The eternal mark of a daughter of the moon._

As the lace collar drops away from her neck, she sighs. “How rude.” 

You put the knife up in a mirror of how she holds the gun to you, the sharp tip digging into her chin. Still, your eyes are fixated on the twin pinpricks at her neck, the deep red and black spider veins that sprawl out from them. She truly is the monster stepped out of the tales, the horror you were raised to fear.

Strange, really. How beautiful the monsters of your childhood tales can be. 

How they can smell of ripe plums and rainwater and sandalwood smoke. 

You bring your hand up to her neck, tracing the wounds with your gloved fingers. Daughter of the moon. One who has sharp fangs hidden behind luscious lips, one who drinks the blood of the living they are no longer a part of. There are many names for what she is now, and you know only a handful of them. Daughter of the moon. Vampire. Monstress. 

Pressing your finger against the twin wound, you feel nothing underneath your fingertip. No pulse. No heat.

“I see. Well. Now you know my secret. What will you do? Risk your own precious life for nothing? Or be a good girl…” Her fingers encircle your wrist, and you are far too fascinated with the sight of her delicate neck to counter. The dagger slips from your grip and slices a cut into your palm before she catches the blade as you stumble backwards, away from her. 

“Yes. There we are. You know what is good for you.” She twirls the dagger in her hand, her eyes widening as she catches sight of the blood on it. She bows her head and licks the tip clean of your blood, her movements so precise and careful that she doesn’t nick her own tongue on the sharp blade. The saliva gleams in the low candlelight. You are fascinated. How you hate it. How you loathe it. 

And yet a part of you wants her to do it again. An even deeper, darker part of you wants her to lick your blood from your bare skin.

You must be delirious from the blood loss.

Yotsuyu swallows, a pleased sigh escaping her lips, her gaze almost soft. “It has been too long since I tasted something like this. How unique you are.” 

You are pressing down on the cut to still the bleeding, the wet seep of blood making your fingers sticky. Her nostrils widen and eyes dart to the cut, then back up to meet your gaze.

“Are you frightened?”

Lips pressed together, you chose not to respond. 

“Silence is as much an answer as anything.” 

She takes a step to the right, and you a step to the left, circling each other at a perfect distance. All it would take is two steps and you could be at her throat again. Or she could be at yours. 

“I am being gracious to you. You may be fast…” The light in the room blurs, though your eyes are wide open, and suddenly she is right in front of you, her black hair seeming to surround you. 

It takes a few seconds for the reality to sink in. She has you pinned to the wall, her delicate hands holding your wrists with a preternatural strength. Her hands are so cool against your skin.

She is not breathing. What an unnerving detail, really. Yes, you have learned the art of holding your breath for long enough to survive minutes on end under the water’s surface. Yes, you have learned how to breathe in such a quiet way that no one will hear you waiting in the rafters for hours on end. This is different though. Her chest does not move. The air around her mouth remains still. 

You should be feeling fearful, should you not? Yet your body is doing something vastly different. And that is what frightens you. 

“You know, don’t you? You know what I could do to you.”

There is still a speck of your blood on her lower lip. Tiny droplet, shivering fresh. Your eyes cannot stop looking at it as she speaks. 

In the back of your mind, you wonder what her lips would look like painted with your blood. You think that the color of it would suit her perfectly, and then you wonder what depraved depth that thought came from. 

“Who do you think paid for your contract? I wanted to see if you were good enough.”

“For what?”

“Oh, so you do speak after all.” She leans close enough that the tip of her nose almost, _almost_ touches yours. “I have wanted to see you up close for a long time. You are not as tall as the rumors make out.”

You bare your teeth and snap them at her. 

“Like a cornered _dog_.” She laughs, delighted, her knee pressing against yours. You can feel the outline of it underneath her kimono, the silk so fine it catches on the rough fabric of your pants.

“I wanted to see you this close. Never did I think I would taste you, as well, but the night is full of beautiful little surprises, would you not agree?” Her voice is low and soft, like a river trying to tug you along. But what rests at the river’s bottom? What stones lie in wait, threatening to wound you? 

“Here I am. What do you want?”

“Ah ah ah. The contract is not completed yet.”

You growl.

It is not only instinct that drives you as your tongue moves past your parted lips to lap at the blood on her lip. There is a wild, dark undertow of things swirling inside of you — fear and curiosity and annoyance and the most confusing of them all, a frisson of desire that has you reeling. 

You could stop here. With the tip of your tongue licking at her lip. You don’t.

Your tongue slips into her mouth, lips meeting hers, and it is so sudden how you arch your body off the wall to press it against hers. It is sheer wanton need, a burning desire stoked deep inside of you, raw and feral and hungry. You have always known the shape of death in your life, a shadow that trails behind your blood-stained hands, and here you are _kissing_ it.

Her hands ease their grips on your wrists and it is enough to break the enchantment of the moment as you tackle her to the ground, your fingers digging into the collar of her kimono as you tumble down together. Your lips part as you straddle her waist, bent over her. 

You could resist.

You don’t. You don’t, because you are consumed by what you want in this moment. 

You bend your head and kiss her again, more furious and feverish this time, having already tasted blood and wanting more. Your tongue traces the sharp edge of her fangs, a shiver running down your spine before you cut your lip open on it by dragging it along the fang. She drinks from your kiss, her hands bunching the fabric at your waist. 

You need to catch your breath, as mortal and living as you are. In the wild tumble you have made a mess of the room, a tissue-thin scrap of black lace catching your eye.

A contract is a contract and you have never been one to leave a job unfinished. You pick it up and Yotsuyu eyes you with a cool gaze, her lips stained with your blood.

It does make her look very beautiful. Distractingly so.

“Do you think I’m going to make it easy on you?”

You are usually not this remiss. Then again, there is nothing usual about this night anymore.

Her hand has found the pistol again, and she has it pointed at you. Dread clutches in the pit of your belly as her sharp smile reveals her gleaming wet fangs.

She aims the pistol to the side, quickly, the bullet grazing your cheek as she fires it. The noise rings in your head, almost enough to drown out her words. “Guards!” she yells, a cruel smile on her lips. She has grown bored of you — or she is challenging you. It is hard to tell. 

You move off her in a daze, falling to your hands and knees as the loss of blood makes you feel lighter than usual. She rises up gracefully, brushing her hand over the back of your head, fingernails scratching at your scalp.

“Better run, little mortal. Lest you renege on our contract.”

Her laugh hangs in the air around you as you stumble your way to the window. You don’t look back but you _feel_ her, as if she is right around your neck, as if she is right there with you. How you make it down the building alive is a miracle, and you break into a sprint as soon as your feet hit the ground, determined to get as far away from the din of the guards looking for the intruder.

In a quiet alley, overgrown with wild rose bushes, you slump against the wall and catch your breath. Your ears are still ringing, your chest thumping.

In your hand is the lace collar, crumpled up and torn. It smells of her distinctive perfume, and with a touch gentler than you would like, you delicately fold it up and put it away. Wherever this takes you, you are committed to following it all the way down. This is how your obsession goes, taking you to the root of it all. A hunger that cannot be satiated with merely knowing the outline, no: you need to know every crevice, every shadow of the map. All else would be a betrayal to yourself. 

Somehow you had enough wits about you to grab one of your blades before you ran. You wonder what she is doing to its twin. You wonder if you will ever see it again. 

You lick the blade where she licked it, tasting the acrid smoke and the sweetness of plums underneath it. Under the brightness of the full moon, you shudder, feeling her gaze burning its way into you. 

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Mel, who has inspired me to write things I wouldn't have dared just a few months ago, and who has been an amazing in-game companion as well as writer-in-crime. Thank you for appearing in my life. 
> 
> Title taken from [Red by The Acid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1n4VJTuYAOY).
> 
> My twitter is [@celestial_txt](https://twitter.com/celestial_txt) & [my carrd](https://celestial-txt.carrd.co/) is here.


End file.
